Bent
by RunningoffXanaxYank
Summary: 'We're not broken just bent' Pink He'd done it mostly to make her smile—Jackson had left that summer. The photo was a memoir, of sorts, one of the rare moments of peace during their time in high school. Sterek pre-slash AU!
1. We're not broken just bent

He glanced at the framed photograph on his desk unable to hold back a smile. The only photo of them he has. It was taken the year he made first line—and actually played. He was wearing red jeans and a short-sleeve blue shirt as apart of the outfit Lydia insisted he buy to fit his new status. He'd done it mostly to make her smile—Jackson had left that summer. The photo was a memoir, of sorts, one of the rare moments of peace during their time in high school. He picked up the photo and ran his thumb along the cranberry red frame and looked down at their smiles. Isaac, standing next to Scott, had his arm around a smiling Boyd, pulling him in close. Scott's arm—the one not around Isaac—was slung on Stiles' shoulder, touching Derek's back. Next to Derek, Peter and Danny stood smiling and laughing just as much as the rest of them. In the midst of all this, Lydia stood making a duck face. Allison took the photograph, he remembers. She'd— ironically because of the whole Matt thing—been the only one handy with a camera.

A swarm of memories flowed through his mind, each one as painfully sweet as they had been every other time he brought up the past. '_You've thrown them, your memories, all in a closet,'_ Danny had said once, _'So now, when you open it, they burst out and trample you.'_ It's not that he regretted what happened, no; not even thinking of Erica made him regret it all. He was tired of always feeling like he was suffocating. Like the person standing next to him would, in a moment, become a monster he was entirely unprepared to fight. Living a normal life and holding on to Beacon Hills, as he knew it, was impossible, his first week at MIT had taught him that. He was glad of one thing: Danny had come with him. Moving cross-country, loosing his dad and friends, coupled with going to college; it was all overwhelming. _'There are plenty of good schools here in California,'_ his father had tried arguing. Yes, California had good schools, but they weren't MIT and therefore not what he wanted. He missed his dad, Scott, Ms. McCall, everyone, Derek.

Their goodbye was a strange one. He hadn't expected a hug or anything more than a _'good luck'_ maybe even a _'be careful'_. They weren't exactly best friends but, they weren't not friends. They had, after all, spent the majority of his time in High School saving each other from the other's stupidity. To be honest though, some very, large, giant part of him wanted a '_Don't go'_. But he didn't get one, which was fine because he would have stayed if Derek had even implied it and spent another ten years fawning over someone who would never feel the same. There, of course, was no implication, just an awkward wave and a tiny smile from the driver's seat. He wouldn't call it indifferent—that made him feel strange—but maybe, no, indifferent was the only word which fit. He hadn't spoken to his family, excluding Danny, in over a year. _'Lydia is starting to think you've gotten a new, what's the word?'_ Danny turned to him, _''Beau' to replace her.'_ In some ways that was true, he'd married his work and school the first day he got there. At the time, though, he'd been too busy to really care and shrugged Danny off with _'I've got more important things to do right now.'_ Danny spoke to him less after that, choosing only to discuss school work and internships. Now and then again he'd mention Scott and the others, but those moments were few and far between.

It was during one of such discussions, actually, that Danny had flung a packaged box at him before running off to his own dorm. When he'd opened it, he'd found late Christmas and birthday presents with letters from everyone at home. He'd received a card for H&M from Lydia and six-page-letter reprimanding him for not contacting any of them. She'd written a page or two of complaints about the pack and the school she was in, Oxford, before adding in apologies for whatever it was she'd done to merit his silence. It was overall a very refreshing letter. Isaac had sent him about sixteen flash drives and a letter catching him up on everything. Boyd sent a card for Auto Zone, with a letter filling him in on all the things Isaac cleverly chose to leave out—mainly that Peter and his dad were competing for Ms. McCall's love and both failing. His father sent him clothes and boxes of Mac N' Cheese with _'Are you still alive'_, _'I love you'_ and _'Call please' _written all over the wrapping. Peter sent him a beastiary, an old one that ran in the family, with a note that read _'So your dad will stop threatening to shoot me.' _Scott had sent him twelve video games and a long letter asking a lot of questions he doesn't remember. He does remember, though, that it was signed _'Scott. P.S Derek misses you.'_ He didn't know how to feel about that, so he opened up Derek's present, the smallest of them all. It had the framed picture in it. A post-it was placed over the photo. It read: '_we all have a copy, thought you should too.'_ He'd propped it on his desk and left it there until now, when, in the midst of work, he found himself feeling empty without them. He set the photo down and picked up his cell phone, dialing a number he's afraid to admit he'd memorized.

He hears the breathing and laughter of a group of people on the other end of the line before, "Hello?" He can almost hear the confusion in the voice.

"I'm pretty sure we agreed no more answering Unknown Caller-IDs after, you know," he quips. There's a huff of a breath before a loud thud, the background noises are nothing more than a hum now.

"We also agreed we wouldn't use star sixty nine," a rustling of clothes before, "Everyone's worried about you." He nods, forgetting momentarily that he can't be scene, before moving over to his bed.

"Danny keeps them informed," he lets one leg hang off the bed and bends the other up.

"He could be lying to protect them," came the reply.

"You can tell when people lie."

"Your dad can't." Stiles sighs and leans back against the wall. His heart is beating irregularly and his hands are sweating, it's nothing new but he's not entirely used to it either. "Are you coming home for Spring Break?" _Only if you want me to_, he bites his lip to keep himself from saying it.

"I've got a big project," he says instead, "I don't think I can." Even as he says it, he knows it sounds like a lie. It is one. He doesn't have anything to do. He just doesn't want to look Derek in the face.

"Is that why you called me?" it sounds a little too bitter, "I'm the alpha so you think it's my job to deliver the news?" He opens his mouth to defend himself but somehow Derek knew he would, "Don't try and lie to me, you did the same thing for Christmas and New Years."

"That's not why I called you," He says sternly.

"Why?" He doesn't know why. Or he does but doesn't want to say. His eyes wander over to the photo, remembering Scott's note, 'Derek misses you.' It's a lie, has to be. If he was missed Derek would sound less angry, less indifferent.

"I-" There's a noise on the other end of the line.

"You're a terrible host," Peter's voice rings in his ears.

"I'm on the phone," Derek sighs. The door—he guesses it's the door—closes and there's shuffling.

"Is Lydia okay?" Peter asks seriously.

"She's fine."

"That's reassuring," Peter quips sarcastically, "Give me the phone." More shuffling.

"It's not her." Derek says finally. Disappointed doesn't begin to describe his tone. There's silence before the door—he's decided it's the door—opens again.

"Missing the game," Isaac pants. It sounds like a whisper over the line.

"I'll be right out." There's shuffling and the door closes again. "I have to go." His ear hurts from pressing his phone against it in order to hear the muffled voices in the background. The line stays quite but neither one of them hang up.

"I miss you," he whispers, but when he looks at his phone, he realizes Derek hung up just before he said it.


	2. I thought that we were fine

He doesn't go home for Easter but sends a box full of presents and letters for everyone. Most of them are just answers to questions. No, he's not dead. Yes, he's eating normally. No, he hasn't found replacements. Yes, he's gone on dates but no, he doesn't have anyone at the moment. Other than that they were mostly letters letting them know his address. He pointedly doesn't comment on Scott's little note. After that he's overwhelmed with school again and it's not until his father's birthday that he gets to call anyone again.

"Hello?" his father bellows. He sounds happier than he did the last time they spoke.

"Happy Birthday!" he sings, smiling into the phone.

"Sorry who is this?" the words are slap to his face, "It sounds like my son but I'm afraid I haven't heard from him in a while, I think he's dead." He sighs laughing and relaxes at his desk.

"I've been busy," It's his excuse for everything but he hopes his father will understand.

"I know," his father sighs, why does he always make everyone sigh? "I just miss you son."

"I miss you too," he smiles into the phone, "Did you get my present?"

"Yes," Ms. McCall chimes in, "He's wearing it right now!" It takes him a moment to realize that he's on speaker but by then it's too late to hang up.

"You're a terrible son," Lydia quips, "Even I found time to make it here."

"Not everyone is as brilliant as you," he tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice, hopes he succeeds.

"Are you going to come for the summer?" Scott screams into the line.

"Not sure yet buddy, I'll let you all know later."

"You mean you'll let Derek know so he can let us know," Peter spits. Someone must have elbowed him because he hears him grunt. The silence is deafening. Someone opens his dorm door.

"Honey I'm home," his roommate croons, he could almost kiss the big headed idiot for saving him. "You made me dinner? Oh sweetie you shouldn't have!" He can't fight the smile on his face; they're both fans of I Love Lucy and he's happy that he at least has one person in his life who knows nothing about Werewolves.

"Duty calls!" he hums into the phone, "Happy Birthday Dad I love you bye." He hangs up right away and starts helping his useless roommate with dinner. An hour or two later he gets a text message from Scott. _'U dating ur roommate?'_ The thought makes him want to laugh but looking back at it not many people would understand the reference. He stares at it for a few more minutes before another text arrives, this one from Isaac. _'Sound less desperate to hang up next time our replacement shows up.'_ It's a stupid comment. Isaac knows he could never replace them and he knows Isaac is only trying to help, to let him know what it sounds like to the others. Still, he can't help but be angered by it. Isaac was there, Isaac should know he could never replace them.

His brain, being the masochistic thing that it is, smacks him in the face with the best and most painful memory in college.

It was a week after he'd been at school, the semester hadn't started yet and his roommate wasn't going to arrive for another week. On the pretense that he would be getting his school records, Derek came to New York, and since Isaac had never been there, he came along. Stiles had invited them to stay at his dorm, why stay at a hotel if there was room in his dorm? Derek and Isaac made themselves at home and Stiles had been happy to have them there. It was a nice week. Everyday Stiles would wake up and make breakfast with Derek while Isaac tried to get rid of his jet lag. It didn't feel strange at the time, that in two days he and Derek had already gotten used to seeing each other in the mornings. At night they worked together on dinner while Isaac kept them informed on the game they'd live streamed from the internet. They rotated sharing beds—there was only two and Stiles wouldn't let them sleep on the floor—so Stiles and Derek ended up sharing three times that week.

The first night had been uncomfortable, at first, but by the time Derek had fallen asleep Stiles had already relaxed and begun to doze off. By the third day they'd all gotten so comfortable with each other, they began leaning on each other and going through each other's things without permission—they didn't need permission. On the fourth day, Derek took them out to the best pizza place in NY; Stiles can't really remember what it was called or where it was exactly. They walked around New York City for a bit before taking the three hour long drive back to MIT. Stiles had fallen asleep on the way but Isaac hadn't, so he ended up falling asleep when they got back to the dorm. Derek and Stiles stayed up all night talking before falling asleep on the bed together. When he woke up, Derek had arm around his waist and Stiles was pressed along his side, one arm thrown around Derek's chest as if claiming him. Isaac was sitting on the other bed smiling. It took everything to pull away and when he did Derek just turned on his side, asleep. Stiles made Isaac promise not to tell Derek.

Later that day there was a knock at his door and Stiles had answered it, thinking it was delivery. It wasn't. He found a cute blond biting her lip and crushing a pamphlet in her hands. She was nice enough, he can't remember her name though. He only remembers her looking behind him at a shirtless Derek. She'd had the decency to blush, at least. Stiles had taken the pamphlet and closed the door. _'What did she want?'_ Derek had asked. Stiles had given him the pamphlet on his way to the bed before answering: _' I don't know. Some club. Probably won't join, otherwise I'll never have time to talk to you guys.'_ It was the beginning of the split between them. The next day, Derek didn't help with breakfast and Isaac seemed more uncomfortable than he had been in a long time. At lunch he tried to figure out why Derek seemed distant, he'd almost forgotten they were to leave the next night. _'He's just angry because he's going to miss you,'_ Isaac had teased. _'I'll only be a skype call away from you,'_ Stiles said trying to be comforting. Derek only glared at the both of them and said, '_I'm not going to miss anyone.'_ It'd been a bit of a slap in the face, but Stiles should have taken it better. He threw Derek his food and laughed when he undid the wrapper in an attempt to catch it, spilling his food on the wooden floor. _'Liar,'_ Isaac pressed, '_You've smiled more this past week than ever before._' Derek growled under his breath before throwing away the spilled food and turning up the volume on the TV. Isaac was silent after that but Stiles couldn't leave it at that. '_I'm going to miss you,_' he'd whispered from his spot next to Derek, _'Even if you won't miss me, I'll miss you being here everyday. And even if I call you everyday I'll still miss you._' When he woke up, they were gone. He only found one note written on his desk : '_Didn't want to wake you. Bye._'

He'd tried to call but nothing went through. He stopped calling. His roommate moved in, he started school, and only every made two calls, four calls home again. Still, Isaac knew, knows how Stiles feels about Derek. And thinking anyone could change that, pisses him off. So he sends: _'don't be jealous.'_ A second later Isaac replies: _'You thinking I'm jealous is just another way to exploit your insecurities'_. To which he replies: _'Why don't you go blow your brains out? You've got nothing to loose.'_ And in turn receives: '_I've been trying to see things from your point of view but I can't get my head that far up my ass.'_ He throws his phone on his bed after that and doesn't bother looking at it again for another month or two. Time blurs and near the end of the semester, his councilor calls him in wondering if he'd like to take an internship opportunity over the summer. He takes it.

When he looks at his phone, he finds twenty texts from Scott, five from Isaac, ten from Lydia and one from his Dad. 'You'll be home this summer?' It was sent three weeks ago. He replies to it anyway. 'Have to do an internship.' An hour later his dad replies, 'see you for Christmas?' They'd agreed going to California for two days in November was a waste of time so of course his father wouldn't ask about Thanksgiving. He doesn't reply to the text. A week later he's off to his internship.

His cubicle isn't anything like what he had in mind. The people there were rather dull as well. Most of them were friendly though. Working at Google as an intern is a lot easier than he thought it would be. He has more than enough time to work on a concept for his sophomore project and then some. He stays at a hotel nearby, which Google pays for, and gets a rental car, which Google also pays for. For the most part it's the most anyone could ever ask for but he's bored out of his mind and he keeps thinking about the cranberry red framed photo he brought with him and the smiles. At the end of his boring work day, he gets into the jeep he rented, puts the photo in his passenger seat, and starts driving.


	3. You've been having real bad dreams

He keeps driving and looses track of time. _'It's dangerous to drive while sleep deprived,'_ Lydia's voice barks at him from somewhere in his past. _'I'm not sleep deprived,_' he'd argued. '_Emotionally conflicted and tired is the same thing._' He shakes his head and focuses on the dark road before him. The clock on the radio reads: _12:36 am_. It brings up a memory of an entirely different night.

'_Why can't we ever take your car?'_ he'd asked while frantically checking the mirrors. His jeep was struggling to keep its 80 miles per hour speed as they were barreling down the road, Derek bleeding into the passenger seat. '_I'm not letting you drive my car,'_ he'd grunted back. The tires screeched and he looked at the clock before checking his mirrors. _'Can't this thing go any faster?_' Scott complained from the backseat where he was trying to steal away some of Isaac's pain. _'Just be happy it hasn't broken down_!' Stiles glanced over at Derek, his eyes were still red and his claws were large. He was holding his side and bent over slightly, skin incredibly pale. Stiles tried to tear his eyes away from the wounds but couldn't. Derek's shirt was shredded, he looked up at Stiles and Stiles didn't know what to do or say. '_Watch out!_' Scott yelled, by the time Stiles turned the wheel he'd already rammed a stop sign down and sent them into the woods.

He stirred awake, realizing he'd stopped on the side of the road. _1:47 am_. He drives to the nearest motel and passes out, the photograph on the pillow next to him. He doesn't dream, he only remembers. The car got stuck in a heap of mud and they ran out, set on escaping. Scott helped Isaac run and Stiles helped Derek—or tried to at least. He couldn't keep up with Scott and Isaac and Derek was holding up less and less of his own weight. _'Wait_,' he'd had to call out twice before Isaac and Scott turned back. They were at least fifty yards away. _'We have to split up._' Isaac shaked his head, '_I'm not leaving Derek.' 'I can't keep up with you,'_ Stiles panted, he'd looked over at Derek, who'd begun to lean towards the tree. '_We'll go get help_,' Scott had said sternly, Isaac looked over at him looking slightly betrayed but he'd remained silent. _'We'll lead them away,_' Stiles nodded, eyes glued to Derek's wound. He'd wanted to push the shredded material covering it and look at the wound, clean it, wrap it, something, anything, to help. '_Find cover,_' Scott had put a hand on Stiles' shoulder before running off, it was meant to be comforting. It wasn't.

He'd ended up breaking into an abandoned log cabin. The owners had left and never sold the property, as far as everyone was concerned, they weren't planning on coming back. He'd all but dragged Derek into the house, coughing from the amount of dirt around them. There was no furniture, so Stiles had laid Derek down on the ground, making a pillow out of an old rag he'd found in the doorway. He removed the button up shirt he had on and set it aside. Derek was pale and his bleeding had yet to stop. _'Okay first things first,_' he'd lifted the shirt slowly off the wound, wincing when Derek whined in pain. There were three ragged gashes on in his skin. Stiles turned to Derek for an instant before laying his shirt over the wound, his shaking fingers had felt his cold skin. Derek hadn't protested as he'd applied pressure, only leaned into his touch. '_You're cold.'_ He'd whispered. Derek hadn't graced him with answer.

Lights appeared in the distance and he was on his feet, lifting Derek up with him, before the roaring of engines reached his ears. Derek, having had bleed out at least two pints of blood, was too weak to stand and Stiles had had to drag him into the closet. It was long enough for them to lie down, so Stiles pulled Derek up against him and held him there. The cars passed, but he hadn't moved and neither had Derek. The silence scared him more than anything else—until Derek began to cough. He'd been petrified then. '_Guess I won't be wearing these clothes ever again,_' he'd sighed. They'd known each other well enough, then, for Derek to know deflecting was Stiles' coping mechanism. _'Not much of a loss,'_ he'd replied. What followed wasn't quite a laugh but it was close to it. Stiles had kept one of his arms around Derek while his free hand had found itself in Derek's hair. If Derek had minded, he hadn't said. '_Laura and I used to fight a lot._' Stiles had remained silent, but his grip had tightened around Derek, '_Siblings are supposed to fight aren't they?' _Derek hummed, Stiles had felt it. They'd dove into a conversation about several things before Derek finally said, _'I'm not going to die_.' Stiles nodded, _'you better not._' Derek had only smiled before falling asleep. Stiles pulled him closer and help him there until Deaton arrived to help. Even then, he hadn't left until he'd seen Derek's wound had healed. It wasn't until he was walking home that he'd even remembered his car was still in the woods.

When he wakes up, he grabs the photo and starts driving. He doesn't stop until the trees around him start to look familiar and the road turns into street lights. He parks in front of a house, doesn't bother to pay attention to the color, before walking across the street and up to the white porch with the mahogany wooden door and the old worn out door bell. He pauses a moment, with his fist raised and the photo in his other hand, before knocking. One. Two. Three times. There's shuffling on the other side, someone mutters something and then the click of the lock. The door opens and on the other side his father stands, wide-eyed.

"Hey," he smiles before taking a step forward and hugging him.

"Who is it?" Ms. McCall's voice flutters in from down the hallway. He looks over at her, standing frozen there about to burst into tears. His father pulls away and he meets her halfway, taking her into a hug. She starts to cry and he holds her tighter. He's never seen her as a replacement for his mom, but as a second mother, like an aunt. When they pull away, she's wiping her tears from her eyes and laughing. "I'm sorry, it's been a long time and I.." She laughs and looks up at him, "I thought you were mad at me because of…" She glances over at his dad.

"No," he smiles, Boyd had told him about them sometime around May. He makes sure to look at both of them, "I just want you to be happy." Ms. McCall smiles and hugs him again before pushing towards the back yard.

"Wait a minute then come out," she smiles knowingly and he just nods and waits in hallway, watching his dad and her walk out hand in hand. He looks at the photos on the walls around him. He sets the photo down on a small table before walking slowly to the back door. Laughter spills in from the back and he steps out cautiously to find them—Danny, Lydia, Scott, Isaac, Boyd, Peter and Derek—sitting casually about as his dad Bar-B-Q's. They all turn to look at him as he walks out. They must all look different shades of happy or shocked, he doesn't really look at any of them. He makes eye contact with Derek and everyone else seems to disappear. He hasn't changed much in a year, if anything he looks better. But as their eyes meet Derek's smile seems to disappear entirely, replaced by his what-are-you-doing-here face. Stiles wants to apologize, only there's no reason, he hasn't done anything wrong. Lydia appears in front of him suddenly and wraps her arms around his neck. He wraps his arms around her waist to keep from falling over.

"I knew you'd come!" she sniffs into his neck. Then Scott's next to him, teary eyed and hugging Lydia and him at the same time. Boyd and Isaac walk up to him, clearly waiting in line to give him a hug, and Lydia tightens her grip on him. Danny moves closer and smiles broadly at him. Stiles smiles and hugs Scott and Lydia to be nice, but he wants to push them away. He wants them to back away so he can go and talk to Derek. He's not sure what he would even say but it doesn't matter. Scott pulls away but Lydia stays attached to him crying. Danny steps up and takes Scott's place for a brief moment. When he pulls away Isaac looks at him sheepishly.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," his smile is small, "You never called back." Stiles shrugs.

"My head was too far up my ass," Isaac stops smiling entirely at that and Lydia pulls away slightly to look at him. He smiles and presses against Isaac's shoulder lightly. Only then does he burst out into a bright smile, laughing his relief out. It should be illegal to make Isaac do anything but smile, he vows to do anything he can to make sure Isaac never stops.

"All right," Boyd bellows, "step aside so I can hug him." Lydia chuckles and lets go of him. He rolls his shoulders before hugging Boyd. He means to head straight for Derek afterward but Lydia gets a hold of his hand and drags him to one of the chairs further away from Derek. He spends the day answering questions and telling them stories. It's strange at first but then everyone relaxes and it's almost as if he'd never left at all. When they tell him things, it feels as if he was there with them even though he knows he hasn't spoken to them in a year. They're making plans for next weekend when Stiles realizes Derek's no longer sitting outside. Peter is gone too. He panics for a moment before Isaac leans over.

"He went inside," he whispers, "Peter went home." It's an unspoken rule, if Peter leaves without Derek that means he's spending the night. Stiles takes that as his sign to sneak away and Isaac distracts the others long enough for him to do so. When he goes inside, he hears Ms. McCall and his dad talking in the living room. He turns into the kitchen to find Derek leaning back against the counter, beer in hand. If he were smart, he'd confront him and talk out everything that's happened between them and find out where they stand. If he were courageous, he would walk right over to him and kiss him breathless…. But he's not smart and he's not courageous, not with Derek. Instead he walks over to the dishes and starts soaping them. After two dishes, he hears Derek sigh and place the beer down and then they're standing side by side. Stiles washes the soap off one dish and turns to look at Derek. He wants to talk, to ask Derek why he'd never answer if he saw Stiles calling, why he seemed so angry when Stiles came home, why he left without saying goodbye. They're standing close to each other but not quite touching and Stiles has to tell himself not to lean into Derek's space. He bites his tongue and places the clean dish in Derek's expectant hand. He continues soaping the dishes and handing them over, keeping his silence and hoping Derek can't tell how wrecked he is on the inside.

A/N: Catherine, everything works out the way its supposed to in the end.


	4. We'll come clean

A/n: Sorry for taking forever, esp since this is so short, but duty calls and I'll try to have this all finished by at least mid june, if I can.

Silence is not Stiles' friend. Sure, it's easy to ignore someone where there are several other people around and things to keep you distracted, but there isn't anything right now. Just Derek drying the dishes Stiles hands him, standing uncomfortably close. And still Stiles misses every bit of this, of them. Because this whole doing chores and cooking thing, it's them, it's a thing they do, or did. And its so easy to just pick up right where they left off, to pretend that they haven't spent the majority of their time away avoiding each other, that none of this means anything to other, that deep down inside they didn't both fell like shit everyday that they were apart. Only Stiles has no way to know if Derek truly felt anything. The few times they communicated Stiles was too busy trying to hold back from telling the alpha just how broken he'd been left, how difficult it'd been to get used to the empty space Derek had left behind. For all he knows, Derek's speech was stressed because the pack missed Stiles, or maybe they secretly blamed Derek for it? How would Stiles know? His conversation with the pack has been limited and strained at best. Damn, it's hard to imagine how they even got here, to this place and time where Stiles willingly secludes himself from the people he loves, from his dad. Fuck, his dad, he just left him there, alone. After everything they'd been through, he just left him there to fend for himself.

He looks down at the cup in his hands, his vision blurs and his hands pause over the clear glass. Derek stills next him, towel resting over his left shoulder and cascading down to his hands which wait patiently for the next dish to be handed to them. It's stupid and completely shit luck that his lungs chose now to tighten in his chest and strain his breathing. He sets the glass down and scoffs, gripping the counter tightly to hide the fact that his hands are shaking. There's a humming in his ears that grows louder and louder and his head hurts, most likely due to lack of oxygen. Derek turns to face Stiles, he moves slowly and uncertainly, like he's afraid Stiles will shatter if he moves too quickly or maybe he's confused, he's probably confused.

"What's wrong?" the werewolf asks. _Everything_, is Stiles' gut response. _Everything is wrong because he hasn't seen the pack in about a year and he's a terrible son who abandoned the only family he has left because Derek stopped talking to him_. He doesn't say that though. No instead he shakes off the panic seeping in and takes a deep breath, preparing to face his punishment.

"Nothing, I just really missed this," he turns to look Derek right in the eyes and offers a light smile, "being home" _with you_, he adds mentally.

"You're the one who wanted to go to _MIT_," Derek sighs bitterly and removes the towel from his shoulder, folding it neatly before laying it down on the counter. There's two major issues with that statement: one, It's one of the best fucking schools for Stiles' major and reputation is everything whether people want to admit or not, second, Derek doesn't have the right to sound bitter about where Stiles is going to school because the bastard hasn't attempted to talk to him and basically left him for dead. Fighting fire with fire only makes more fire or some shit like that but Stiles doesn't really care for being wise right now, it's not like this is the first time they've argued.

"You didn't same to hate it so much when you visited," Stiles spits back, picking up the cup he'd left abandoned in the sink.

"I didn't realize you'd use it as an excuse for ignoring us," Derek snatches the cup out of his hands as soon as it's rinsed and places it in the rack to self-dry.

"I called you but it always went straight to voicemail," he tries not to sound angry, or bitter, but fails.

"You shouldn't have used 'unknown'," comes the swift reply and that just about snaps every little mental block and shield he was using to stop from waging an all out fight in the middle of the kitchen while the pack is outside and his Dad is flirting in the living room down the hall.

"Fuck you," he considers punching Derek but takes a step back instead, not yet ready to initialize any form of physical contact, "I called you using an 'unknown' number two, maybe three times, and that was the _only _time you picked up!" Derek stands his ground, eyes trained on Stiles and head tilted slightly down. He's trying to play the innocent fucking role and Stiles won't have that, "For fourteen fucking days I called you and texted you after every _single_ class worried that something had happened, and every single time it went to voicemail." His voice cracks and he takes another step back to breathe before dropping his hands to his sides. "I got the hint, so I-" the lump in his throat makes his voice waver and talking starts to get difficult. He clears his throat, "So I backed off." He shrugs. Derek's no longer looking at him and his shoulders hang low, as if he was the one who'd been pushed out. "I stopped trying because I couldn't take knowing that, when the phone rung twice before going to voicemail, that was you hanging up on," he tries to say '_me'_ but the word refuses to come out until he clears his throat, "on me." Derek looks up at him with that same look that Stiles has been trying to figure out since the Kanima trapped them in the pool when he was in high school. He searches Derek's face for any sign of what it might mean because it's been too long and they were never really that close to begin with. A week in paradise doesn't translate to knowing everything about someone, clearly.

"What?" Stiles' heart jumps and he turns around to find Lydia standing there teary eyed, "That's why you've been avoiding us?" Stiles opens his mouth to speak but Lydia silences him with a finger, "Derek acts like a complete and utter idiot and we get punished because," she puts her hands in the air, "because you wanted us all to feel as bad as he made you feel?"

"No," he interjects.

"Then, why Stiles?" he doesn't know why, if he did he would tell her. He just knows that it had nothing to do with them, that he didn't want to make them pay the same price he had to. It was just something that happened, a side effect, but he can't tell her that because that's not what she wants to hear. He shakes his head and stays quiet. Lydia just nods, "nice to know." She exits out of the kitchen and Stiles curses under his breath.

"Stiles," Derek begins. Stiles turns to him.

"Just," he sighs, "forget it. I didn't come here to do this, I just want to try and save what little family I have left." He walks out after Lydia, running into his father in the hallway. Given the look on his face, it's safe to say that everyone heard his argument, which is just great. He walks outside to find Danny, with a consoling arm around Lydia, and Boyd standing defensively beside them. He tries to make eye contact with Scott and Isaac but fails.

"I'm sorry," he doesn't know how to convey how sorry he really is, "I was a complete and utter asshole and I deserve to be slapped for being so fucking stupid." Lydia turns to him, she's trying not to cry.

"Sorry isn't good enough," she lifts her chin up, "after everything we've been through, Erica," she pauses, "Jackson. You had no right to just cut yourself off from all of us, Derek I understand but us?" Stiles nods, he takes a step forward.

"You're right," he holds out his arms, "but I'm here now." Lydia nods, "And I promise I'll call you once a week, if not everyday, for now on." She pulls him into a hug and it's as close to forgiveness as anyone can ever get with her. He looks up at Danny and is met with a soft smile. Boyd just nods at him, as if approving. When Lydia pulls away from him, she mutters something about fixing her make up and heads inside. Stiles walks over to Scott and Isaac.

"Are you mad at me too?" they look at each other for what seems eternity before Scott speaks.

"Nah," he smiles, "You're my best friend, I can't be mad at you, even when you do something stupid." He hugs them both at the same time and a heaviness he didn't realize was on his chest, lifts. As they pull away, Isaac tilts his head towards the general direction of the door.

"What about you and Derek?" Some part of Stiles really wanted to ignore that problem and generally not think about the fact that Isaac has been completely aware of Stiles' feelings since day one. He turns to look back at the door where Derek is standing before turning to Isaac. He was two choices: either make some smart and hurtful remark or suck it up and get over it. Neither one is very appealing but,

"About that," he sighs and walks over to Derek, "I overreacted, I'm sorry, can we just forget it all?" He holds out his hand and Derek looks down at it.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to,"

"Derek," Stiles sighs, "just shake my hand so we can agree to forget about this and move on." Derek eyes him suspiciously, Stiles figures the wolf can probably sense how not okay Stiles is with rearrangement but how much he really needs this to just be over, now. After a moment, Derek shakes his hand. It's the first contact they've had in years and Derek's warm and rough hand raises that heat in Stiles he really wishes he could just ignore. He pulls his hand away quickly and takes a deep breath before looking over Derek's shoulder to see Ms. McCall watching them with a helpless look on her face. Lydia joins her in the hall way and offers Stiles a small smile. Suddenly he realizes something is terribly wrong, "Where the hell is Allison?"


End file.
